


Redefining Faith

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Supermagnificent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: The first of two stories set in Deannie's wonderful Supermagnificents universe; these two are set between "Assembly" and The Tascosa Saga, as Vin and Josiah get to know each other.The second one is "Bartering Faith"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Deannie for the help! All mistakes my own.

“Nathan asked me to bring you some dinner,” Vin said, setting the napkin-covered plate on the table in front of Josiah. They were in the small kitchen of the church, a room that held a small woodstove for cooking, a cabinet with a counter and some shelves on the wall, and the old table and ladder back chair where Josiah was sitting.

  


There was a bottle of whiskey on the table, along with a half-filled glass and a gas lamp that was turned low; Josiah had been pretending to be reading, but the words made him think, and the thinking made him drink.

  


“Thanks,” Josiah answered, recalling his manners. He looked up at the young man, studying him. “Nathan resting, I hope?” he asked, reaching for his glass.

  


Vin glanced toward the movement, but his face showed nothing. He shrugged, the cloth of his coat lifting, and reminding Josiah of what lay beneath. Of all of them, this one was the one most touched by God.

  


Or by the Devil. Josiah wasn't sure yet.

  


“Think so,” Vin said. “Reckon saving that boy's life wore him out. Good thing there wasn't no one else in that barn when it caught fire.”

  


Josiah nodded, trying not to think of the flames and the screams and the horror that had greeted them when they'd ridden into the Tuckers' homestead to find the barn burning. They'd all worked hard trying to get the fire contained do that it didn't spread, then even harder trying to get the boy out. “He gonna be all right?” Josiah swallowed down some of the whiskey, hoping to wash away the sudden taste of smoke and roasting flesh that filled his mouth and nose.

  


“Don't know,” Vin said with a sigh. “Nathan's done more than anyone else could have though.”

  


“He always does,” Josiah said, putting the glass down. The whiskey was taking the edge off, he noted, though he still felt the pull of the anger, of the injustice in the world that let children burn to death. It was an injustice that seemed more acute now, watching, as he had, the way Larabee had worked through the crisis, doing everything in his power to get the boy out.

  


Then watching him puke his guts out behind the horse line when he thought no one was watching. Josiah hadn't meant to see it but he'd come to fetch some salve from Nathan's bag and caught sight of their defacto leader bent double in the ravine, wretching so hard that Josiah had worried that he was dying.

  


He'd thought about going forward but a flash of light from the corner of the house had drawn his attention and he'd hurried over, hoping to prevent anyone else from seeing Larabee. As it was, he'd found no one, and Ezra, who was coming around the corner of the house, said that he hadn't seen anyone either.

  


“You all right?” Vin asked, his voice soft. He shifted, one hip slipping to the side. He stood that way a lot, as if his back was hurting him.

  


Josiah let out a long breath, looking at his book. His Bible. The one his father had given him so long ago. It was the one he always reached for when he was feeling ashamed, feeling the guilt for living when someone more deserving was struggling to stay alive. “Is any of us?” he countered, picking up the bottle and pouring more into the glass.

  


Vin shifted again, straightening. “Reckon that's one of them imponderables,” he said, his voice still soft. “We are what we are, though – and seems that we're doing more good here than bad. Ain't that a good thing?”

  


Josiah stared at the amber liquid, noticing that, as usual, it didn't seem to hold any answers. After a time, he turned back to find Vin still there, still looking at Josiah. “Been a while since I though of it that way,” he said. He tilted his head toward a shelf over the wash sink. “Welcome to join me,” he said, waving toward the bottle. “Dinner, too; if I know Mrs. Arlow, there's enough food here for two.”

  


Vin hesitated, looking toward the shelf and the glasses that it held. Then, with a slight nod, he walked the short distance to pick one up, returning to the table and sitting down on the stool that on the other side. “You one of them hell and brimstone preachers?” he asked, picking up the bottle.

  


Josiah noticed that the young man didn't pour a lot for himself and he recalled that Vin didn't seem to be as tempted by the pleasures of alcohol as most of the rest of them. “Ain't a preacher,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

  


Vin's eyebrows rose and his blue eyes, bright as the sky, studied Josiah. “But you went to school for it, didn't you?”

  


Josiah grinned, almost amused. “People go to school for a lot of things, but that doesn't mean they learned it. Or took it to heart.”

  


Vin sipped from his glass but his eyes were still on Josiah. His gaze seemed heavy, but Josiah knew it was the weight of his own guilt, not anything his visitor was casting on him. After a time, Vin said,   
“Is it the fire? Or the kid?”

  


Josiah reached for his own glass, bringing it to his lips. But this time, he sipped from it, letting the question roll around in his head. Seemed some how right for a kid to be asking him this. “Both, I guess,” he answered eventually. “Fire is the work of the Devil, taking the souls of the deserving. But a child – it ain't right.”

  


Vin nodded and looked away, and Josiah suspected that he, too, was thinking of Chris. The two men had become close. As if knowing his thoughts, Vin said, “Chris took off to his place. Buck went with him, so I reckon he's having problems, too. Guess he has a right to, losing his own family like that.”

  


Josiah frowned, watching Vin's face. The sun was low in the afternoon sky, casting long shadows in the small room. Vin's features were caught in a sort of triangle of light, so that Josiah could just see his eyes, nose, and the arch of his cheekbones. “You don't have a problem with it? A child burning?”

  


Vin frowned and looked at Josiah. “'Course I do,” he said. “Ain't no one who should have to suffer like that. But it seems it was an accident. Reckon you can call it the work of the Devil if you want, but seems to me that the good lord was looking out for the kid. We got him out and he's gonna live.”

  


Practical. And as he thought about it, Josiah realized that that was what he liked about Vin. He was young, but in every instance so far, he had proven himself to be sharp and aware of what was going on around them. He and Larabee thought the same way, pretty much at the same time, and so far, they hadn't been wrong in their approach to things.

  


“How old are you?” Josiah asked, watching Vin.

  


Vin glanced at him then looked away. He swallowed, and Josiah realized he had made the young man uncomfortable.

  


But Vin didn't shy away, meeting the question straight on. “Not rightly sure,” he said. “My ma died when I was about five or so, as I understand it, but I lost track of time when I was living with the Kiowa and then the Comanche. Reckon I'm past twenty but not yet to thirty or so.” He shrugged. “Don't think it really matters, does it?”

  


Josiah tilted his head, thinking about it. “No,” he said, “I guess it doesn't.” And really, it didn't. Why should it? “So, the Indians – they know about your wings?”

  


Vin smiled a little. “Some of 'em – the ones that were family.”

  


“And they didn't have a problem?” Josiah watched the other man, thinking about the way he had been treated by different peoples. He'd not had many encounters with the Indians, of any group, only heard the rumors and read the newspaper stories of things that happened when white men got too far into the native ground.

  


Vin shook his head. “They ain't like white folk,” he said quietly. “They don't expect everything different to be bad. Reckon that's why they deal with us white folk as long as they do – 'cause they believe we mean what we say. Cause they do.”

  


His expression saddened and he looked down again, into his glass. Josiah felt a sadness of his own, not so much about the Indians, though, as about causing Vin pain.

  


“So you learned a lot while you lived with them?” he asked, hoping to bring the good memories back.

  


Vin looked back up, meeting Josiah's gaze. He nodded, and slowly, he started talking.

  


The sun was long down when Vin finally stood up. He had finished his whiskey and a little more, but there was still half a bottle left, which made Josiah realize that he had stopped drinking whiskey, too. They had shared the food, though Vin had eaten sparingly, claiming an earlier meal with Nathan before bringing Josiah his dinner.

  


“Thanks for coming by,” Josiah said as he stood up.

  


Vin shrugged and grinned. “Thanks for the whiskey,” he returned.

  


Josiah smiled back but as Vin turned toward the door, catching the handle in one hand, Josiah found himself speaking again. “I appreciate you talking to me,” he said. “I know it's not easy to talk about the past.”

  


Vin looked back at him, his eyes catching the light from the lamp. “Reckon that works two ways. Next time, I'll do the asking.”

  


Josiah blinked, realizing suddenly that he wanted that. A next time. Even if it meant being the one answering the questions. He nodded and reached out, dropping one hand on Vin's shoulder. Vin didn't flinch away but instead, he seemed to lean into the touch. Somewhere under his fingertips, he knew there were feathers, soft and fine but packed tight to fit inside the clothing. He wondered what they felt like.

  


He wondered if Vin would ever let him touch them.

  


Vin smiled again, nodding once before pulling away and out the door. Josiah watched him ease down the steps, quiet and graceful. The moon was already up, the light of it catching the younger man as he made his way along the back yard of the church and toward the alleyway.

  


Josiah stood in the doorway, staring out into the night long after Vin had disappeared into the town. In the distance he could hear people – music from the saloons, laughter and talk, horses on the roadway, and every now and then, a wagon passing near. It wouldn't be long before most of that faded away, as the night wore on, but for the first time in a very long while, he realized that he was content to be here, in a town, surrounded by people. The demons that haunted his thoughts were momentarily at bay, and for now, perhaps even for this night, he could view the world as Vin did – he could view himself as having done something good this day.

  


It was why they were all here, after all. Why the Good Lord had brought them all together, to do good work. To help people.

  


And for some of them, to atone for past mistakes.

  


Eventually, Josiah shut the door and turned back into the small kitchen. He closed the Bible on the table and picked up the lamp. He thought about reaching again for the bottle, but instead, he headed into the room in which he slept and set the lamp on the bedside table, near the copy of _St. Augustine's Confessions_ he had been reading. He reached for it but stopped before his fingers touched it.

  


Not tonight, he thought, pulling off his shirt and then sitting on the bed to pull off his boots. Tonight – tonight he would sleep.

  


As he turned off the lamp and closed his eyes, he thought of the boy they had saved. And of the image of the large bird with the wide tawny wings tipped in black. The bird that still flew through his dreams and his visions, though now it bore the body of a slender man with a very good heart.

  


It was that image that led him into sleep.

  



End file.
